


Actual Awkward Teen, Derek Hale

by Sheepnamedpig



Series: Tumblr Fics [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Awkwardness, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheepnamedpig/pseuds/Sheepnamedpig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a rrrromance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Muscles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eeames](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeames/gifts).



Derek is fumbling with his locker, trying to figure out the new combination and wondering why the school insists on handing out new lockers and locks at the start of every year instead of letting them keep their old ones. So he’s not expecting it when Erica rams her pointy elbow into his side and hisses, “Look!”

"Ow," he moans, clutching his ribs. She’d managed to get right in between the bones, even. " _What?_ ”

"It’s your lover boy," she drawls, smirking.

Derek huffs and goes back to his lock. “He’s not my anything. He doesn’t even know I exist—”

But Erica is already rolling her eyes and tugging his face by the chin to look down the hall.

And, okay, yeah.

 _Wow_.

That’s. Muscles. Shoulders. Chest. Thighs. Shoulders. 

Erica waves her perfume bottle right under Derek’s nose, the cloyingly sweet chemical scent making his eyes water as he recoils.

"You’re not gonna swoon on me, are you, lover boy?" she asks, smiling wickedly. Derek seriously misses the days when she was just a mousy little nobody with a core of steel. It’s not that she was particularly nice back then, but at least she was nic _er_.

"Why am I friends with you again?" he grumbles, scrubbing his nose against his arm. The smell of his body wash only makes his sinuses hurt worse.

"Because I’m awesome, obviously," she says, leaning against the lockers.

"Damn straight, Catwoman." Derek hears. He turns his head and—

Muscles.

"H-hey, Stiles," Derek says weakly. His knees feel like souffle on the verge of collapse. He leans back against his locker just in case they decide to go out from under him, the treacherous bastards.

"Derek, right?" Stiles asks. Christ, even his voice has dropped over the summer. And his hair has grown out. And his face is more angular. And his skin is clearer. And he has more freckles. And-

Erica elbows him again. “Say, Stilinski, you’re looking pretty cut. You been working out over the summer?”

Stiles shrugs and scrubs one long (veined, strong, masculine, gorgeous) lanky hand over his hair. “Yeah. I’m the captain of the swim team, now that Jackson’s gone, and they made me the captain of the track team, too, so working out is basically all I did this summer.”

Derek makes a high, nasal sound at the thought of Stiles with broad, swimmer’s shoulders and a narrow torso over lean runner’s legs.

Stiles and Erica stare at him. He feels his face start to burn.

"Hey," Stiles says, edging closer. "You alright there, buddy?"

His eyes look like pools of honey or caramel or molten gold or  _whatever_  and wow, that is one inconveniently timed boner.

"Bathroom!" Derek squeaks, and takes off down the hall, ducking and weaving between the other kids, but not quite fast enough to miss Erica’s irritated grunt.

Jerking off in the bathroom makes him late for class, and his prayers for mercy to any and every deity go unanswered when he steps into his first period class to find Stiles sitting next to the only empty desk.

It’s going to be a long year.

(And then Stiles turns his head and fucking  _winks_  at Derek, who almost has a heart attack.

This isn’t going to be a long year. It’s going to be  _hell_.)


	2. Notes

Except, except Stiles isn’t just in that one class. He’s in  _four_  of Derek’s classes, something Derek hadn’t even realized was even possible. But apparently it is, because Derek keeps walking into his classes and, ‘Oh, hey Derek, what a coincidence,’ or ‘Oh my god, is it a small world or what?’, and ‘Holy God, are you stalking me?’

To which Derek replies with a very vehement ‘NO, god!’ before running away to sit in the furthest seat from Stiles he can find. Except Harris puts up the semester’s seating chart, and Derek finds himself sharing a lab table with none other than, oh fucking hell,  _Stiles_.

Stiles, who leans toward Derek when Harris’ back is turned to whisper- Well, Derek doesn’t know what, because as soon as he gets a whiff of Stiles’ aftershave he has to lean away or risk yet another inconveniently timed boner. Stiles blinks at him and retreats to his own half of the table, staring down at his binder. He yanks a piece of paper out of it and starts scribbling, folding it into quarters and pushing it toward Derek.

Derek’s lungs freeze in his chest. It’s a  _note_. Stiles is  _passing him a note_. He reaches for it-

"First day of school and you’re already passing notes in class, Stilinski?" Harris drawls. He plucks the note off the table and unfolds it, taking a deep breath to read whatever undoubtedly private message Stiles wanted to tell Derek. But as his eyes skate over the words, he deflates, scowling. He tosses the note carelessly back onto the lab table. "No detention this time, Stilinski, but don’t make a habit of it or I  _will_  be seeing you after school.”

"Yessir, Mister Harris, sir," Stiles snarks back at Harris, smirking broadly. He nudges the note over to Derek, who is sort of insanely curious.

 _Hey_ , it reads,  _since we have a bunch of classes together, do you want to be study buddies? -S_

Derek is… underwhelmed. But then again, what was he expecting, a love confession? Stiles barely knows him from Adam. He’s not going to proclaim love at first sight for some gangly nerd with weird ears and bad skin. Derek’s going to be alone  _forever_.

Stiles can probably sense how pathetic Derek is, because he takes his note back and crumples it up, shoving it into his pocket with a mumbled, “Never mind.” He stares intensely at Harris’ syllabus, shoulders hunched up around his ears.

Derek stares at him, stares at Harris, stares at his blank notebook, and is pretty sure he’s a frigging idiot. He’ll tell Stiles after class that he’s cool with being study buddies. He’s absolutely chill with it. He’s ice cold with being study buddies, he’s that cool about it. Yep, the bell is going to ring and Derek will turn to Stiles like a not-coward, smile in a friendly and welcoming manner, (but without showing his awful bunny teeth), and say, “Sure, let’s be study buddies. Do you wanna swap numbers?”

Yep. He’s going to do that. Right when the bell rings.

Yep.

Yep.

Nope.

&&&

Laura’s already home when he gets in. She glances at him and does a double take. “Hey booger, you look even dumber than usual. Did your first day suck even worse than expected?”

Derek makes a strained noise in his throat, faces the closest wall, and mashes his face against it.

Uncle Peter, lying on the couch with a book propped up on his chest, starts sniggering uncontrollably, the jerk. He sticks out his leg and Laura sticks out hers and they high five with their feet.

Everything and everyone in Derek’s life is absolutely terrible and it’s  _still_  just the first day of junior year.

(Not that that stops him from jerking off that night to memories of Stiles’ shoulders and muscles and thighs and shoulders and hands.)


	3. Shorts

"Hey, Derek!" Derek hears. He hikes his backpack up higher on his shoulder and pretends not to hear. He’s not going to look, either. He’s  _not_. That way lies shiners and it’s only a freaking month into the school year and he’s  _not_.

"Hey, man," Stiles says, slowing from a jog to a walk next to Derek. The rest of the track and field team continues jogging past without him.

"Stiles," Derek says stiffly, in more ways than one. Because just like the rest of the team, Stiles is wearing the track uniform, which means— Derek looks.

 _Shorts_. Short shorts and miles of creamy legs that had Laura grousing the first time she saw them while picking Derek up from school. Long, lean, stiffy-inducing legs and Derek just  _cannot_. He ca-

"Ow!"

The crosswalk sign hums as it vibrates, set off by the impact of Derek’s face. It’s the second time he’s run into the stupid sign since the track and field team started practicing, their route taking them along Derek’s preferred path like a herd of bad karma.

"Dude, you okay?" Stiles says, he catches Derek’s chin in one huge, masculine hand, gently turning it to look at the red mark surfacing on his cheekbone. His eyes, this close, look like supernovas of golden beauty.

Fuck, it’s been like thirty seconds since Stiles first called out and Derek is already lapsing into purple prose. Where’s Erica when you need her? He needs her to wave that bottle of perfume under his nose  _right now_  because Stiles’ fingers are stroking tenderly over his cheek and Derek wants to cry with how much he and his sudden boner just  _cannot_.

"HEY BUTTZIT!" Derek hears. "THINK YOU CAN TEAR YOURSELF AWAY FROM YOUR LITTLE BODICE RIPPER RE-ENACTMENT LONG ENOUGH TO GET IN MY CAR SO I CAN GO THE FUCK HOME?"

Laura, god bless her ugly little soul. Derek takes back every mean thing he’s ever said, thought, or implied about her.

"YOUR BOYFRIEND’S SMOKIN’ HOT THOUGH. WAY TO GO SNOTFACE!"

"Shut up! He’s not my boyfriend!" Derek shrieks, voice cracking. He puts his blushing head down and shoulders past Stiles, sprinting to where Laura is idling in her flashy Camaro. "Shut up!"

He hurls himself into the Camaro, planting his backpack square in his lap so at least Laura won’t know to harass him about inappropriate boners, too.

"Bye, Derek," he faintly hears Stiles call. But before Derek can look up and say bye back, Laura’s already gunning it out of the parking lot.

"I hate you," he says sullenly to Laura. "I hate you with every fiber of my being. You’re a terrible person."

Laura just cackles.

(And when she recounts the incident to Peter, he cackles too. His mom is unsympathetic when he tells her they’re an unsightly stain on the family tree.

"What can you do?" she says, shrugging. "And what’s this I hear about a boyfriend?"

Derek runs away from the conversation and tries to hide under his bed, but unfortunately he’s too big to fit anymore.)


End file.
